Football Fever
by April Ballad
Summary: FIFA 2010: the final comes down to Germany vs. Spain, with Ludwig's pride and Antonio's happiness hanging in the balance. But...what's this about bribes, dives and back-door schemes?  Spamano and Gerita


Football Fever

My first ever fanfic :)

This is AU in that in reality, the semis were Germany v Spain and Uruguay v The Netherlands. I made the Germany Spain game the final instead of the semifinal for the sake of the fic.

Rated M for the epilogue (but it's vaguely described so don't expect any hot porno scenes). Rated T otherwise.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is © Hidekaz Himaruya. I don't own the series or the characters.

-/

Background info:

FIFA 2010 ('soccer' world cup) was won by Spain. There are rumors that Germany took a dive against Spain, because they played surprisingly poorly in the semi.

The Euro Cup (2008) was also won by Spain, who beat Germany in the final.

-/

**FOOTBALL FEVER**

FIFA 2010, South Africa. The air was thick with anticipation as the tournament wound down to its final days. Giants had been crushed, underdogs had shone, and the final 4 were bursting with strength and vigor.

Spain vs Uruguay

Germany vs the Netherlands

Spain had won its match with practiced strength, sending South America's last hope trudging home, defeated in name but not in spirit.

Today was the day the young German team would pit its new-found grace against the Total Futbol of the formidable Dutch.

/7 Days/

Spain was eagerly watching his team train on the football greens with a proud smile on his face, when suddenly-

"Hey! Stupid Antonio!"

Spain grinned at the obnoxious voice greeting him. His sweet Italian lover had come to watch his team train! And he was now racing towards him, ready to fling himself into his arms and-

SLAP.

Well that was a lot less pleasant than he'd thought it'd be.

"Were you watching the match today? The potato bastard won! He won! Damn him, fucking bastard!"

"Of course I was watching, Lovi," Antonio rubbed gingerly at his poor abused cheek. "But what does that have to do wi-"

"You know what this means, idiot? It means it's you and him, in the finals, just like the Euro Cup! You better kick his ass into the dirt, Antonio! Or I'll kick YOUR ass!"

Antonio wasn't really fazed by the threat. It was hard to take Lovi seriously, considering he was several inches shorter than Antonio and made similar threats on a regular basis.

"Don't worry, sweet Lovi! I beat Germany 2 years ago, si? I can do it again!"

Romano shot him a dark look. "You better be right, bastardo. They say the potato bastard's been freakily strong this year. I hope your players haven't all become a bunch of old farts."

Antonio laughed easily, reaching out his arms to envelop Lovi in a big hug-

And found himself rolling on the ground in pain, his vital regions crushed and his sweet Italian lover sadly nowhere in sight.

Antonio was not worried. He was a care-free nation known for his inexplicable good cheer. He had faith in his team; they were experienced and strong, scattering their opponents with the brute force of their offensive.

Nope. He was not worried.

Even if Romano was right about the German team's unexpected skillful display. It was suppose to be a transitional team for Germany this year; few had really believed the inexperienced players would come this far. But they'd found an easy rhythm in the beautiful game, picking their opponents apart with a grace rarely seen in football, and an offensive as fast as blitzkrieg.

Antonio shivered slightly. The last time a reporter had likened the Germans' style to blitzkrieg, the poor guy'd ended up with a bloody nose from the uptight German nation. Talk about having a stick up your ass.

Antonio looked up from his aimless wandering to find himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood in Johannesburg. Whereas most people would've panicked or started retracing their steps, Antonio shrugged and kept on walking (hey, the world was round. He'd find his way back to his hotel somehow.)

Lovi was right about his players too. It was true that they were getting on in age, and wasn't 'experienced' just a euphemism for 'old?'

And the more Antonio thought about it, the more he became convinced that his team of 'old farts' wouldn't stand a chance against the Germans' youth.

Okay, now he was worried. And lost.

/6 Days/

The morning found Spain deep in thought as he continued his aimless wandering, cause the world may have been round, but it was a big round and Antonio's hotel had stubbornly refused to magically appear over the horizon.

After a full day of nerve-wracking self doubt, Antonio had come to the conclusion that he was doomed. Dead man walking. Might as well tighten the noose and get it over with.

His sweet Lovi would never forgive him if he lost to Germany. Germany. The bane of Romano's existence, whom the Italian tried to off at least once a day.

And so Spain did the only thing he could do in the face of seemingly insurmountable adversity. He stood tall like the brave trooper that he was, proudly waving the red and yellow banner of-ah, screw it, he sat in a corner and sulked, alright?

Dammit, thought Spain, as he traced circles in the layer of dust he'd plopped himself down on. Why couldn't Lovi be sweet and cute like Feli? He thought back to the day that Germany had defeated the Netherlands, a match that he'd watched in the stands with a growing sense of trepidation in the pit of his stomach (which he'd later been relieved to discover had actually been caused by a bad batch of tomatoes.) Feli-cute, sweet, innocent Feli-had been hanging off Germany's arm and throwing rice around as if he were getting married.

"Ve~ Ludwig, good luck against big brother Spain!"

"Ja, Feliciano."

"He's really tough, remember how he beat you in the Euro Cup, Ludwig, remember? And how big brother Romano had rubbed it in your face afterwards?"

Germany's left eyebrow twitched. Subtly. "Ja, Feliciano. Thank you for reminding me."

"Ah~! But that's ok! Even if Ludwig loses again, I'll still love him!"

Snickers followed Feli's loud announcement. Germany's eyebrow twitched again. Not so subtly. "Let's go now, Feliciano."

A red-faced Germany had then dragged Feli from the dugout, to the Italian's chorus of "Hug Ludwig~! Let's huggg~!"

Dammit, Spain mentally muttered to himself again. They'd probably gone straight back to the German's hotel room and bonked like rabbits next to a dartboard with Antonio's face taped on it. Just like he and Lovi had done after Spain's victory against Uruguay. Except it was in the Spaniard's hotel room and the dartboard had Germany's face taped on it (what? Antonio's a nice guy, really, but it was a gift from Lovi and when has he ever worked up the nerve to say no to Lovi?)

I'm sure Lovi would still love me too, even if I lost, Spain tried to assure himself.

Sure he would, his treacherous brain unhelpfully supplied, after a few months of groveling and sleeping in the tomato patch, maybe.

How does that man always usurp Antonio's own house and lock him out of it anyway? As Spain started to drift into contemplating the mysteries of the universe rather than his depressive mood, his doubly-treacherous brain kicked him on the skull and began to set up an elaborate demonstration of what would happen right after he lost the match to Germany.

"Stupid Antonio!" A furious Romano, clad only in a frilly apron, screamed into his ear. "I can't believe you lost to the potato bastard! The potato bastard! I'll never forgive you, you useless bastardo!"

A giggling Feli floated by them on his way into Germany's arms. "Ve~ Ludwig, I love you~! Let's get married, married!"

"Ja, Feliciano. I've finally pulled the stick out of my ass and realized what a lucky man I am to have you, unlike that poor bastard Spain, who's stuck with such a meanie like Romano. Let's get married and live happily ever after!"

"Yayyy~!" Mental-image-Feli cheered as mental-image-Romano shrieked.

"See what you've done, Antonio bastard? You made the potato bastard marry my brother! I'll never forgive you, so you can stop imagining me in a frilly apron, because it ain't gonna happen even in your dreams!"

The nightmarish scenario vanished in a metaphorical puff of smoke as the usually cheerful Antonio wailed in dejection at the misery that was his life.

"I have to stop that wedding!" Spain yelled to no one in particular as he sprang to his feet, filled with a sudden new determination. "As much as I love cute Feli, I must defeat Germany! Then it'll be ME getting married!"

Spain blinked. "To Lovi, of course." Although, now that the idea had entered his head, the easily-distracted nation began to fantasize about Romano and Feliciano in cute, matching wedding dresses, each clinging to one side of a laughing Antonio. Drool formed at the edge of Spain's mouth, all football and romance related troubles momentarily forgotten.

/2 days/

Spain knocked on Germany's hotel suite door, nervous smile plastered onto his face.

"Alemania~! Hola Alemania, que tal?"

The door swung open and an irritated Germany greeted him with stony silence.

Ah, que meido! Spain shrank back a little from the barely concealed look Germany shot his way, which spoke volumes in the vein of 'must-strangle-stupid-Antonio.' It was a sadly familiar look to Spain, as he received it on a nearly daily basis from Lovi.

"Was? What are you doing here Spain?"

Spain pouted. Germany didn't have to be so mean. Sure, the stoic nation had caught him trying to sneak laxatives into the German players' water bottles a few days ago. And sure, he'd been caught again tying the players' shoelaces together just the other day. But that didn't mean Germany should be so mean! I mean, Lovi did those things to him all the time, and nobody saw him complaining.

Ever since his resolution to defeat Germany by any means possible, Spain had been resorting to a number of evil (and by that, read childish) schemes to put the German players out of commission before the day of the match. All he'd gotten for his troubles was a sore bum from being thrown out of the locker room by an enraged Germany on several occasions. Thankfully, Germany had decided against letting the authorities know of Antonio's indiscretions, but he could tell that the blond nation was reaching the limit of his patience.

Spain was also running out of time. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Which was why he had come to his final, most ingenious plan of all.

Groveling.

"Ah, Alemania, have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?"

Germany's stony mask faltered for a second to let through a look of utter creeped-out-edness. "Err...ok."

The two stood in an uncomfortable silence for exactly ten seconds before Spain cracked.

"Please Germany, I'm begging you! Please let me win, please~! I've got no other choice, I have to, my life's on the line! Well maybe not my life, but my happiness! Don't you care for my happiness, Germany? You care about poor Antonio, don't you? Cause under that brick wall is a fluffy, pulsating heart of gold, si, Germany? Si?"

"Was-? Gott Spain, pull yourself togeth-what are you touching?"

Spain had latched himself onto one leg, paying the other's protests no mind as he continued babbling.

"Please Germany! You and Feli can get married any time! This is my only chance!"

"WHAT?"

And that was how Spain got to be where he was now, cowering slightly in a chair in the German nation's suite.

Germany sat down heavily across from him, the stony mask back on his face with only a tiny little twitch of his left eyebrow betraying his annoyance.

Forcing a smile onto his suddenly disobedient facial muscles, Spain started, "So, amigo-"

"Explain. Now."

Spain swallowed the suddenly inexplicably hard lump in his throat and decided to come clean. If cute, sweet, innocent Feli was head over heels in love with this guy, it must mean that he secretly had a fluffy, pulsating heart of gold, right? Even if he did have a face with all the kindness and gentleness of a brick wall.

"Ah, Germany, it's terrible, if I don't win our match, my sweet Lovi will never forgive me!"

Meanwhile, inside Germany's head, little Ludwigs were scrambling around trying to sort through the myriad of deep, complex thoughts racing through him, such as '&$^% Gott!' and 'Stupid £%#~& Spain!' and 'Is that why he's been sneaking around and giving me $)&%# migraines for the past week?'

The only evidence that Spain could see of Germany's internal dialogue, however, was the incessant twitching of Germany's eyebrow, which had picked up pace and was now moving fast enough to be vaguely alarming.

"You're telling me...that all this cheating-" Germany spat out the last word and Antonio opened his mouth to protest, but quickly stopped when the wayward eyebrow sped up another notch. "-is because you don't want your crazy boyfriend to get angry?"

"Si!" Spain cheerily replied, completely missing Germany's cold tone and relieved that the other nation turned out to be rather reasonable after all.

Germany's fingers began tapping on the armrest of his chair, the gears in his head turning rapidly. Spain was asking-begging-him to take a dive. To make Romano happy. Romano. The cause of 46% of his headaches (he'd calculated; the majority of the other 54% could be traced back to Feliciano).

His pride told him to flip Spain a select finger, then promptly kick the idiot out of his room. Via the window, preferably. But then the logical section of his brain chose that moment to wake up and take notice. You know, it whispered, you could probably get something out of him for this. He'd be in your debt for years.

Shut up, brain, he mentally whispered back. I want to win. My pride's on the line.

But there's no saying how the match would go. Your players may be young, but Spain's got more experience. Remember the Euro Cup, Ludwig? Remember?

He flinched at how the last part of that internal dialogue had suddenly sounded suspiciously like a certain Italian he knew.

There's actually a good chance you'll lose. Then what? You'll end up with nothing, that's what. But if you dive, you could squeeze Spain for all he's worth. And besides, Feliciano would never think less of you if you lose.

Antonio was starting to get worried. Germany had been quiet for several minutes, a scowl etched into his face so deeply that Spain feared it would freeze up like that permanently. That wouldn't be good. Lovi would probably laugh his butt off and reward Antonio with a night of hot, sweaty, passionate sex, but-Antonio's brain snagged on the thought of hot, sweaty, passionate sex with his sweet, sexy Italian and so the two nations continued sitting in silence, one with an eyebrow that was twitching continuously faster and the other with a pool of drool forming in his open mouth.

Admit it, said the part of Ludwig's brain that was gradually sounding more and more like Satan, you've been losing sleep over this. You know you're no match for him. He kicked your ass 2 years ago; what's changed since then? He'll probably kick your ass again.

The more the cynical voice whispered in his brain, the more Germany became convinced that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell against the football-playing devil sitting before him (even if said devil currently had a line of drool leading from his mouth to his shirt, and an idiotic grin on his face. He was probably pretending to be stupid just to lull Ludwig into a false sense of security. Damn him.)

And so Germany did the only thing he could do in the face of seemingly insurmountable adversity. He puffed out his chest like the soldier that he was, proudly staring down his enemy like David to Goliath and waving the noble colors of-ah, screw this, he was gonna take the dive and squeeze everything he could out of Spain in the process.

"So, Spain," he began in an amiable tone.

Spain gave a surprised snort and jumped a little in his chair, as if woken from a pleasant, spontaneous siesta.

Oh good, Antonio smiled to himself, Germany's eyebrow had stopped twitching. For a while there, he'd been making bets with himself on whether Germany was going to set a world record with that thing.

"Si Germany? Will you do it? For your old pal Antonio?"

Ludwig chose to ignore the fact that he and Spain had barely exchanged a word outside of UN meetings in the past few decades.

"Ah, ja, well I was wondering. Let's say, metaphorically speaking, that I take this dive-"

"You will Germany? Ah, gracias, gracias mucho! Eras tan amable, mi amigo! Soy-"

"-what would be in it for me?"

"..."

Truth be told, Spain had never really thought this plan through.

"Ah, Alemania, you will not do it for free? Yknow, for good ol' Espana?"

"...why would I do that?"

Yes, he'd really not thought this through.

Spain frowned. What could he offer Germany that the formidable nation didn't already have? Antonio's economy was currently swirling prettily down the proverbial toilet; all he really had left were his precious tomato patches, and somehow he didn't think Germany would be too keen on those.

"Aha! Haha-hahaha! I've got it!" Spain shot up from his chair, and Germany could practically see the light bulb going off beside his head. "I'll give you-me!"

"...You?"

Antonio didn't think the renewed twitching was a good sign.

"As flattered as I am by that offer, Spain, I'm afraid I'm not interested. I, err, I'm not into umm...brunets. Spanish brunets. Who uh like tomatoes. Cause, you know, I'm not racist or anything. There's nothing wrong with Spanish people." Germany's face was getting redder. With anger or embarrassment, Antonio wasn't sure.

"Eh? What are you talking about, Germany?" The German's misunderstanding had completely flown over his head. "I'll clean your house for you! Every day, for a whole month!"

Ludwig hadn't been this relieved since he'd convinced Feliciano to stop spontaneously bursting into love sonnets on his front lawn.

"Ah, thank Gott. But Spain, I like cleaning. And besides, Japan still comes around every once in a while to do that."

"I'll cook for you! Every day, for a month!"

"But Feliciano already does that. It took 2 months to teach him how to cook anything besides pasta, and if he stops now, I'm afraid he'll forget everything and revert back to his old habits."

Spain deflated. What else was he good at besides housework? It was all he ever did thanks to Lovi's laziness.

"...I'll keep Lovi out of your way?"

The German nation gasped. Internally, of course. It wasn't manly to gasp out loud. But he did gape.

"Spain. That's... That's brilliant."

"...It is...?"

"Ja!" Ludwig rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Squeeze, the logical/cynical part of his brain whispered, squeeze him!

(Yknow, in a metaphorical sense, cause otherwise it was just so not on.)

"You keep Romano out of the house every time I come by to visit Feliciano or pick him up."

"Si! I can do that! For a month!" Spain happily chirped.

Germany scoffed. "Make it 6 months and I'll give it fair consideration."

"...Siz meses...?"

"And you have to make Romano stop trying to shove me into oncoming traffic."

"..."

"And stop poisoning my food every time Feliciano invites me over for dinner."

"..."

"And stop splashing me with holy water and trying to exorcise me with a stake."

"..."

"AND stop calling out hits on me in the mafia."

Spain was crestfallen. Lovi tried to do at least one of those things to Germany on a daily basis. He'd have to watch over him 24 hours a day to fulfill his end of this deal. The hot, sweaty, passionate victory sex would certainly keep Lovi distracted for a while, but-Antonio's brain again snagged on the thought of hot, sweaty, passionate victory sex with his sweet, sexy Italian, and suddenly he forgot what he was suppose to be worrying about.

"Siii~" Spain chuckled, the familiar line of drool forming again.

Ludwig took that as an affirmative. And now that they'd gotten that sorted out, Spain quickly found himself on the hardwood floor boards in the hotel corridor. Not that he noticed. He was much too busy fantasizing about that pink, frilly apron and the way those silky laces would be tied around a thin, sexy waist, forming a big, cute bow in the back, which would sit snuggly on top of twin, soft butt checks flushed with anticipation for Antonio's-how did he end up lying in a pool of drool on the floor?

/1 Day/

"Guess what, everyone? I've decided that we should let Spain win this cup. Isn't that wunderbar?"

An uncomfortable silence settled in the change room as every player turned towards the blond who'd just made this pronouncement. Ludwig could swear there were crickets chirping behind him.

Finally, a brave soul spoke up. "But, Fatherland, why do you say that?"

Ludwig tried to ignore how creepy it was to be constantly addressed as 'Fatherland.' It made it sound like he'd somehow gotten hugely pregnant and given birth to them all. Plus it made him feel old.

"Ah, well, I know some of you must've already been thinking about it, what with the offers and all."

Another awkward silence followed, this one tinged more with guilt than confusion as Ludwig noticed how several of his players suddenly found the floor very interesting to stare at.

They mustn't think that highly of him, he thought darkly, to think that he wouldn't know about the bribes. Germany had done exceptionally well in the world cup, unexpectedly so, much to the dismay of many in the gambling business. Their sudden strength was costing a lot of people a lot of money, and so more than a few of his players had been offered bribes to take a dive.

"But Fatherland-"

Ludwig thought that if his left eyebrow twitched much more, it might as well jump off his face and run. The idea was vaguely disturbing.

"-we want to make you proud!"

Ludwig found it telling that the first to speak up was a back-up player. This would be easier than he thought. He silently thanked whatever gods existed for Spain's offer. These traitorous young men were already thinking of taking a dive! The nerve.

"Ah, ja, well it would make me more proud if you took the dive. Err I uh like it when we get money. And...stuff."

Damn crickets.

He coughed nervously. "Well, just thought I'd let you know, I'd be proud of you all whether you win or not." You bunch of bribe-taking scum, he added internally, completely impervious to the tickling in the back of his brain that sounded like it was trying to say something along the lines of 'you hypocrite!' but was too muffled by gags and chains to do so. Probably just his conscience acting up again. Ludwig didn't like abusing the poor thing, really, but he'd had to resort to desperate measures to keep himself sane after accepting Spain's offer. Drinking himself into a stupor had only left him gagging over the toilet bowl for an hour, and that was certainly the last time he took Gilbert's damn advice on anything.

/0 Days: 9:30pm, SAST/

"Antonio!"

Spain had long ago trained himself not to flinch at the loud, rude voice shouting at him now. Instead he broke into a goofy grin and spread his arms towards the owner of said voice.

"Lovi~! You've come to watch my match!" He reached out to wrap the Italian in a big hug, but grasped only air. Such was his life.

"Hmph. Don't get used to it." Lovi was all talk, though. He'd shown up at all of Antonio's matches, albeit begrudgingly and with much shouting involved. "I only came to see the potato bastard get that brick wall he calls a face kicked in."

"I'm right here, you know?" Germany leaned over in his seat next to his boss. Spain's and Germany's bosses were sitting together in the VIP section of the stands, their respective countries by their sides.

Romano answered him with a growl. Stupid potato bastard sitting next to his idiot brother, who was currently laughing at nothing while clinging to Germany's arm and occasionally snuggling into his chest. We'll see how long that lasts, thought Romano, as he turned his attention back to Spain, who was also laughing quietly over nothing in particular. Romano should've been a little disturbed at the similarity, but he had more important things to focus on at the moment. He'd just file it away as another thing about Spain that creeped him out, and throw it in his face at a later time.

"You aren't going to disappoint me, are you, Antonio?"

Romano's glare would've sent icy daggers stabbing into the heart of anyone else at the receiving end of it, but said daggers died a pathetic death against the barrier of cheerfulness and obliviousness that always surrounded the Spanish nation.

"Ah haha! I'll make you so proud, Lovi! You'll be so happy, and we'll get married and have a wonderfully romantic Honeymoon, with lots and lots of hot, sweaty-"

When Spain came to, he wondered how he'd ended up lying on the dirty floor next to his boss's feet anyway.

Meanwhile, two seats down from there, a giggling Feliciano was shouting happily to the people below, while Ludwig was trying very hard to defy the laws of physics by sinking into his chair.

"Ve~ do your best Germany! Yayyy~!"

Ludwig sulked quietly as his restrained conscience gave another unpleasant lurch. Feliciano had come early that afternoon to watch the German team practice, and was now frantically waving a little paper German flag with all the enthusiasm he'd displayed while waving those white flags of surrender more than half a century ago. To make matters worse for Ludwig's conscience, the cheerful Italian was sporting a temporary tattoo on his cheek in the shape of a heart, colored in red, gold and black. Even Germany's boss had been pleasantly surprised at the other nation's unreserved support.

"Hey, Feliciano... You, uh, you wouldn't be too disappointed if, yknow, if I don't win...right?" Ludwig knew it was a bad idea to ask, but he just had to know for sure.

"Ve~ Silly Ludwig, I'd still love you!"

Ludwig was glad for Feliciano's unconditional support, but he still flinched slightly at his loud voice and the muffled snickers from around them that followed.

"Besides, Germany is always losing, but Italy still loves him~!"

Ludwig's left eyebrow was making a valiant attempt at running off his face.

/11:20PM/

It was finally over.

90 minutes of crucifying guilt, interspersed by 15 minutes of even more crucifying guilt as Feliciano had tried consoling him during the break ("It's ok, Ludwig, there's plenty of time to make a comeback!"), followed by an added 5 minutes, all of which Romano had spent laughing obnoxiously while Ludwig had been praying for time to speed up and feeling slightly cheered by the fact that Feliciano's grip on his arm had never loosened.

"It's alright, Fatherland, we'll get them next time, ja?" Ludwig's boss had just shared an amiable hug with Spain's boss and was now smiling at him consolingly. Ludwig didn't answer, but Feliciano was bobbing his head up and down in furious agreement.

"Si! You'll do better next time, Lu-"

His words were interrupted by an even louder, more annoying voice. "HAHAHA Take that, you potato bastard! How does it feel to be a loser, huh bastardo? HAHAHA!"

"I'm sure you would have a better answer to that question, Romano," Ludwig ground out between his teeth, trying to remind the other nation of Italy's pathetic defeat early on in the tournament. It was an art to subtly insult Romano without making Feliciano upset as well. At least Spain had the grace to look somewhat sheepish.

Romano's unrestrained laughter would've kept ringing in his ears, sending him spiraling into a deep and incurable depression, if it weren't for Prussia's dramatic entrance at that very moment. Ludwig had never been quite so happy to see Gilbert in his life, at least not since...well, in his life!

"Wa'd a mes?" Gilbert hollered, tripping over something invisible and ending up sprawled across Ludwig's and Feliciano's laps. The politicians present chose to politely turn their backs on the display. It was a silent agreement. No one in the German government ever mentioned Prussia's continued, freeloading existence and no one in any foreign government acknowledged witnessing his antics. It was a system that worked remarkably well for all parties involved.

Gilbert burped loudly. if Ludwig wasn't used to his older brother making a drunken fool of himself on a regular basis, he might've been confused as to what Gilbert had just so articulately slurred. As it was, though, he could expertly translate his brother's idiot speech into normal speech for 'What did I miss?'

"Oh nothing, bruder, just, you know, my untimely demise."

Gilbert pulled himself up and laughed in all their faces, and as Ludwig wiped the flying spit off of his face, he found himself thinking that maybe Romano's mad cackling wasn't so bad after all.

Next to the display of Germany's national embarrassment, Romano had pulled Antonio flush against him, grinding aggressively against the older nation.

"Antonio," he breathed into the other's ear, his tongue darting out momentarily to tease a sensitive earlobe. "Your team played so well today, Antonio. I think maybe you deserve a reward."

Antonio shivered in anticipation. Romano was rarely this enthusiastic in their relationship, and never in public. The bad-tempered nation hated the snickers of passers-by and would always slap Antonio's hands away whenever they started wandering on their own in a public place. The blood rushed away from Antonio's brain at record speed as another part of his anatomy stood up and took notice (no pun intended, of course.)

His arms were wrapping around a slim waist as Romano's fingers curled in his hair, seeking leverage against the pressure between their bodies. He sucked gently at Romano's lower lip, coaxing the hot mouth open, slipping his tongue inside and meeting an equal warmth. His hands had wandered lower, pressing against supple cheeks clothed only in a thin layer of denim. Then he was squeezing those cheeks, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh and receiving a pleasured moan from his partner in response.

Romano's back was arching, hips grinding against hips, so that all Antonio could feel was the explosive friction as his hardness rubbed against an equally enthusiastic counterpart. He wanted to shove Romano down onto the plush-lined chair, rip the offending clothes off, and take him right then and there, so that everyone could see why Italy Romano-Lovino Vargas was his and his only.

Romano's fingers were clenching into his scalp as their kiss deepened further, both nipping and sucking and licking for all they were worth, Romano rutting himself shamelessly against Antonio's thigh, his moans growing louder and more needy and the lack of air was going to Antonio's brain as adrenaline flowed through him, knowing they were in a public place right in front of his boss and thousands of onlookers and and and-

And as 10 bottles' worth of Smirnoff beer along with Gilbert's dinner was regurgitated all over a hapless Spain and an outraged Romano, Ludwig thought fondly that his older brother hadn't been this much of an asset to the German nation since the 19th century.

/Epilogue/

/-1 Days: 12:00AM/

"Ahh~ I'm so glad we're back in your suite, Ludwig! It's dark and cold outside, but it's really bright and warm in here!" Feliciano giggled and threw off his heavy jacket, followed by a trail of other articles of clothing as he made his way toward the bathroom, where Ludwig was preparing for a relaxing bath.

"Ack, damn it Antonio! Bring me a change of clothes! And start a warm bath! I'm damn tired all thanks to your stupid match." Romano threw off the dirtied jacket and shirt with disgust, leaving them on the floor for Antonio to take care of. He quickly stripped out of his jeans, briefs and socks and padded towards the bathroom, where Antonio was currently following his commands. After all, Romano thought as he smirked to himself, it had been a wonderful day and even the potato bastard's stupid brother couldn't ruin it for him. Or for Antonio, for that matter.

/12:30AM/

Feliciano gave a satisfied sigh and settled gently against Ludwig's chest. The blond had been tense all day because of the match, so Feliciano had convinced him to indulge in a bubble bath and a few scented candles, courtesy of the five star hotel. He snuggled into the warmth against his back, giggling when he felt the German's heartbeat speed up just a notch. They were familiar enough with each other's bodies by now that even such a tiny change could be felt.

"Feliciano..."

The Italian frowned. Ludwig still sounded upset. He resolved to do everything in his power to make the other forget about the loss to Spain, because football was football, and even though it was important, it wasn't nearly as important as amore. Feliciano turned over in the tub, pressing the front of his body flush against a blushing Ludwig.

Romano gave a pleasured moan as he tossed his head back, giving Antonio better access to his neck. The taller nation on top of him bit down gently on his collarbone, massaging the faint love marks with his tongue. Romano brought his legs out of the warm, caressing water and wrapped them around Antonio's waist.

"Here?"

It was more a plea than a question that Antonio whispered, his voice husky with desire. Romano groaned with need, nodding vigorously as he arched up towards his lover, seeking friction and heat. The water splashed gently as Antonio rose to grab the bottle of baby oil by the sink.

When Antonio returned, the world spun dizzyingly around Romano. He faintly registered the hot fingers pressing insistently against him, before the familiar sting of overwhelming heat and pressure made him clench his eyes with pain and gasp out loud with pleasure. The steam rising from the tub swallowed the evidence of their actions, but the echoing of their joint voices seeped beyond the bathroom door and betrayed their passion to the world.

Or, you know, at least to the unfortunate souls who were trying to sleep next door.

/1:00AM/

Feliciano would ask himself later how Ludwig had managed to maneuver them from the tub to the bed without his noticing, but for now he shrugged it off as one of those mysteries of the universe that weren't meant to be solved. Before his wandering mind could start contemplating said mysteries though, Ludwig was on top of him and everything else suddenly seemed a lot less important.

"Ah~ Ludwig, si..."

The blond's mouth was currently exploring the expanse of smooth skin laid bare below him, gently nipping and licking his way from Feliciano's neck to his shoulders to his chest to his stomach. The Italian squirmed against his lover's ministrations as he arched his hips off the bed, seeking more contact, more heat, more pressure.

Ludwig gave a quiet chuckle at Feliciano's eagerness. It'd been one hell of a shitty day, but that didn't mean things weren't looking up. Pun totally intended.

"Ahh fuck, Antonio, Antoniooo..."

"Hnn, si, Lovi, sii-"

Antonio's movements became erratic as their bodies buckled against one another. A trail of Italian expletives left Romano's lips before a final tremor shook him and left him gasping for breath against the unforgiving porcelain of the tub. Antonio followed soon after, the clenching of Romano's tight body too overwhelming to keep holding on.

The two laid there in satisfied silence for a few moments before Romano shoved Antonio's limp body off of him and glanced over at the impenetrable fourth wall.

"Good thing this is fanfiction, huh Antonio? Otherwise sex probably wouldn't be nearly as mind-blowing."

"Siii" Antonio agreed, not hearing a single thing Romano had just said through the pleasurable haze of post-coital bliss fogging his brain.

"I mean, we come together every time. How often does that happen in real life anyway?"

"Siii"

"Not that I'm complaining." Romano turned towards Antonio with a sultry smirk. "Now let's go to your bed and do it again."

Somehow, the words 'bed' and 'again' had bravely fought their way through the haze, and Antonio was springing up from the tub in seconds, dragging a for-once compliant Romano behind him.

/3:00AM/

A completely exhausted Feliciano sank back into the fluffy pillows and snuggled into them with a deep, happy sigh.

Ludwig being Ludwig had decided there were too many wet spots on the sheets to sleep on them and had padded over to the closet for cleaner ones. By the time he came back, rolled Feliciano off the bed, tucked the sheets in properly, plopped Feliciano back onto said sheets and lain down himself, the German was too exhausted to do much of anything. Especially protest, when the comatose Italian next to him had somehow found a way to be annoying even in his sleep, by rolling over on top of Ludwig in a way that those who saw it might've found endearing, but was really just suffocating to the German on the receiving end of it.

So, of course, being the stoic, responsible man that he was, Ludwig did the only thing he could do. He pulled the metaphorical stick out of his ass and cuddled back. Pride be damned.

Romano rose up onto his elbows and surveyed the plush, 5 star bedroom, his eyes landing on the well-worn dartboard that had the potato bastard's face on it. Suddenly he remembered why he was in such a good mood and let out an evil cackle that would've made Prussia proud.

Romano leaned over in bed and non-too-gently shook the sleeping figure of Antonio next to him. The sultry smile that he knew by now Antonio couldn't resist was back on his face.

"Antonio, Antonio. I'm horny again. Let's go another round."

And even though the Spaniard was still half-asleep and vaguely dreaming of talking tomatoes dancing around him, when had he ever been able to say no to his sweet Lovi?

/4:00AM/

A half-drunk Prussia snuck quietly towards the bedroom. Gilbert's ability to somehow bypass state-of-the-art security technology with nearly as much finesse as Feliciano had always baffled Ludwig. It was one of those mysteries of the universe that Ludwig was wise enough not to pursue.

Gilbert stumbled several times as he searched for the elusive door in the massive suite. Finally, he found it and swung it open with a suppressed evil chuckle. The stench of sweat and sex hit him as soon as he poked his head inside, and Gilbert had to bite back another wave of laughter. Damn I'm proud of that West! he thought. He's finally become a man.

"I am the most awesome big brother ever!" Gilbert whispered to no one in particular, although how Ludwig and Feliciano's great sex life could be attributed to Gilbert's awesomeness, no one'll ever know. Mysteries of the universe.

Prussia plopped himself down on the bed, across the laps of the unsuspecting couple. Cause Gilbert was awesome, but even he needed love sometimes, ja?

And thus, that night, everyone slept peacefully in the German team's hotel. Except Ludwig, who was plagued by terrible dreams as a result of Gilbert's dead weight on his stomach.

"Fuck Antonio, yessss-more!"

"Siii..."

Antonio suppressed an exhausted yawn and wondered what his sweet Lovi would do if he fell asleep right in the middle of their hot, sweaty, passionate victory sex. Cut his bits off, probably. The Spaniard slapped himself across the face to keep awake. No need to test that theory.

"Why Antonio, you kinky bastard. Who knew you were into such things?" And before Antonio could ask his lover what he was talking about, Romano had promptly slapped him across the face.

Such was his life.

/12:00PM/

"Vee~ It's Gilbert, Gilbert!"

Ludwig woke up to the sound of his lover's voice chirping merrily. He cracked an eye open only to see a naked Feliciano hugging a half-conscious and clearly hung-over Gilbert. Normally Ludwig would've blushed furiously and demanded to know A) Why Gilbert was sprawled across his lap, B) Why Feliciano was naked (oh wait...), and C) Why naked Feliciano was hugging Gilbert sprawled across his lap.

But, since Herr Stick had been evicted from its former residence in his ass, Ludwig did none of the above. Instead, he laughed at the absurdity that was his life.

Ja, life was good. Especially the next 6 months of it.

Meanwhile, over in the Spanish team's hotel, a clearly insatiable Romano was bobbing his head up and down in Antonio's vital regions. It was certainly a nice change from having them crushed, Antonio thought weakly through the soreness.

Si, life was good. Even the next six months of it, because seeing Romano this happy made everything totally worth it. Totally.

**/END/**

Reviews are appreciated!


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